


since we've no place to go

by impossiblepluto



Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [10]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas, Episode: s02e12 Mac + Jack, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: A missing scene for 2x12 Mac + Jack
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: have yourself a fluffy, whumpy christmas [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552330
Comments: 22
Kudos: 102





	since we've no place to go

**Author's Note:**

> This follows yesterday's missing scene from 2x11, where Mac didn't leave the police station as unscathed as he appeared.

Mac is a whirlwind through the house, examining wires, muttering stoichiometry, and equations and a whole lot of things that Jack doesn’t really understand, despite years of listening to the kid work out math problems in his head and scratch them onto any available surface.

He’s looking a little pale. Overwhelmed. Exhaustion catching up with him. It was supposed to be a nice family holiday. They needed it. Time to relax and pretend that the horrors they fought every damn day didn’t exist. They should be teasing Bozer about his pastrami tradition, and Mac spiking the eggnog while Jack drives everyone nuts messing up the lyrics of Christmas carols. He thought up some great ones this year. He couldn’t wait to try them out, waiting for the optimum moment that will either make Mac roll his eyes or fall over with laughter depending on how strong the eggnog is. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not Mac getting arrested for murder and domestic terrorism, dragged from his home on Christmas Eve. The first Christmas Eve they've had at home in years. With his friend watching, helpless to do anything. Not hours in an interrogation room, laying every insecurity bare. Definitely not getting shot by a cartel member while in police custody. Jack will never forgive the LAPD for that. And not Oversight either, for the decision to leave Mac in their custody.

The relief of his name being cleared marred by the desperate phone call from Cage, choking, drowning in her own blood. The frantic dash to the hospital, only to be left waiting for hours. Hoping and praying and terrible hospital coffee.

A more dramatic version of what Mac didn't want his friends to experience last night when he begged Jack to stitch him up in the bathroom at home. 

This year was rough enough. Taunting them with loss and betrayal. Couldn’t let them sneak through the last week of the year without taking a few more hits. He’s ready to say goodbye and good riddance to twenty-seventeen and wishing for better things in the coming year. 

Jack catches Mac’s elbow as his feet stumble. 

“Come on, sit down for a second.”

“There’s a bomb under the house,” Mac protests. 

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that, believe me.”

“And another one somewhere in LA. People are going to die if I don’t figure out how to stop it.”

“And you will, but,” Jack’s hand brushes against Mac’s side and he hisses in pain and surprise. “You were shot last night.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t forgotten about that,” Mac’s eyes narrow as he spits back Jack’s words. “Believe _me_.” 

“Then you were up all night, worrying in a waiting room. Wouldn’t let me ask the docs take a look at you even when we were just sitting there for hours. So, you’re gonna sit down. You’re gonna drink something and you’re gonna let me take a look at this, because I don’t think your shirt started out with polka dots on it when you put it on last night.” Jack gestures to the speckling on the lower right side of Mac’s white Henley. 

Mac looks like he’s going to protest. Like he’s going to fight Jack, and fight the world, right up until the moment he collapses into the stool at the kitchen peninsula, eyes hooded as they stare blankly ahead, the last few hours catching up with him. 

The last year catching up with him.

Jack waits.

Waits until Mac’s eyes begin to clear, for the haunted look to soften. For the tension to start trickling from his shoulders. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak, letting Mac control the moment. 

“Okay,” Mac whispers, turning to look at Jack. 

Jack rolls up Mac’s shirt, exposing the stitches he placed the night before. That feels like so long ago. 

“Popped a couple on the end there,” Jack says. 

The blond head dips with a nod.

“Did you feel it?”

Mac shrugs.

“Sit tight, I’m gonna grab the first aid kit.” Jack hurries down the hall, grabbing the kit from where he left it on the bathroom counter the night before. Only hours ago. It feels like so much longer. He feels so much older. When he returns, Mac hasn’t moved. 

“Do you,” Mac swallows. His voice thin. “Do you have to put them back in?”

Jack debates, scanning his partner. “I think we can steristrip it. There are enough intact that it'll hold. I’ll cover it with gauze, but you gotta let me know if you feel it bleeding. Or if you pop any more of ‘em.”

Jack folds down the waistband of Mac’s pants, cleaning the skin around the stitches again. The skin is more tender this morning and even mild pressure causes Mac to hiss and squirm under Jack’s hands. He waits until Mac settles before continuing, pushing the wound closed, sealing them with the surgitape. And covering the row with a gauze bandage. Except for quiet gasps of pain, Mac is silent through Jack’s ministrations, watching the gun calloused fingers move against his soft skin. Soaking up the comfort that those familiar hands bring. 

“Jack,” Mac whispers, his eyes closed. He’s shivering. “There’s a bomb under the house,” he repeats. “The Ghost put a bomb under my house.”

Jack rubs his hands up and down on Mac’s shoulders, easing the chill that’s wrapped itself around Mac. His heart aches at the number of crazies that want to try to match wits with his kid. 

“Best bombmaker in the world, and he’s targeting me.”

“Then it’s a good thing the best bomb nerd I know is inside the house.” Jack crosses the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and tossing it to Mac. “Here. Drink some of that.” He cracks the seal on his own bottle and gulps down a few sips.

Mac accepts the water, it's been hours since he's had anything to eat or drink. He pause thoughtfully, lips around the mouth of the bottle. His eyes widen as his mind races. He sets the waterbottle down, still full.

Jack recognizes that expression. It’s the one he has right before he says…

“I think I might have something.”

Up he bounces from his seat, back to business, the moment of rest has vanished.

Jack sighs, setting aside his own bottle. He’ll be there to pick up the pieces once Mac saves the world again. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> join us again tomorrow for a 2x12 extended ending.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
